Five Scenes on the Death of a First Lady
by lillypilly11
Summary: The morning is bright with possibility. Ep addition for 'The San Lorenzo Job'.


A/N: I haven't written Leverage for ages, but after that season finale, I couldn't resist. And now that Christmas is over, I finally have a chance to post this thing. Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

_**Five Scenes on the Death of a First Lady**_

_**...  
**_

1.

They spend the whole night avoiding a public in a state of extreme, patriotic enthusiasm. People fill the streets, and anywhere that serves alcohol.

Sophie's face is on every television in the country. In the small, crowded bar where people constantly toast to their nation's new leader, and its newest fallen heroine, the two of them quickly retreat to a small table in the furthest, darkest corner they can find.

There they are free to smile and laugh, giddy with the win, among other things. Under the table, she crosses her legs and her ankle brushes his shin. _Friends__._ The word hangs between them, a reminder of all that they aren't.

But then, they're opportunists, they live for the game, and it's no fun if the stakes aren't high. He doesn't move his leg and neither does she. At least until Nate inevitably has to get up and go to the bar for another round.

Because of course Sophie can't just wander around where anyone might recognise her; she needs to stay in the shadows. Which means it's Nate's job to fetch her whatever she wants, and she makes a point of ordering the most ridiculous cocktails she can think of, purely for the fun of it.

And, of course, this means she ends up drinking about twice as much as she normally would.

"We need a break after this. A real break. We," she tells him firmly, poking his shoulder for emphasis, "Need a holiday."

"Are you using the royal 'we' now?"

"No, no, _we_, Nate. _Weeeee_, I mean you and me and the others, you know."

Propped heavily on one hand, he stares at her, utterly disarmed, and very amused. "I don't think I've ever seen you really drunk."

"And you still haven't. We're a work in progress here. And by we, I mean me. I'm going to need something blue, this time, I think. With an umbrella. Surprise me." She pushes her empty glass away, laughing as he gets to his feet again.

He rolls his eyes, beleaguered expression in place, but it's all for show and they both know it.

**...**

2.

She hides her face whenever anyone passes too close to their table - ducking behind her hand or her glass, the motions exaggerated and obvious, like a celebrity avoiding the paparazzi.

One time, one time only, she hides in the shoulder of his jacket, face pressed close enough to feel the warmth of his body on her flushed skin. Briefly she breathes in the masculine scent of him, the hint of his aftershave still lingering after a long day, overpowered by scotch and old sweat that manages, on him, to be manly and sexy rather than offensive. She's very drunk after all, that's probably what it is.

His head turns down and his chin rests on top of her head for a moment. "All clear," he murmurs.

She sits back up. Drinks swiftly. Avoids his gaze.

Friends. Partners. Team. _Family__._ All perfectly good words, but the truth is they don't even come close, and they both know that, too.

**...**

3.

Waiting for the elevator, back at the hotel, one of the staff looks too long in Sophie's direction, and she inclines her head, letting her hair fall over her face. Nate turns into her, shielding her with his body under the guise of something more intimate. His hand low on her back, he guides her forward as the elevator arrives, the doors parting.

She sways, stumbling against him when he reaches for the button. Maybe it was a calculated move - as if he cares. His arms come up around her, steadying her while pulling her closer.

"You're one of a very select few who know my secret identity," she murmurs in his ear, voice like dark honey. Her arm slides up around his neck. Her lips brush his jaw.

"Do I?

She nods several times seriously. "You know me."

"It's okay, I know how to keep a secret."

He smiles at her. His thought processes ground to a halt some time ago; she is the only thing in his head.

He adores her. He wants her.

The elevator stops.

**...**

4.

They can't remember which is her room, so they go to his, kissing drunkenly outside his door while she searches his pockets for his keycard. She smiles wickedly, doing a thorough job of it, her hand brushing him through layers of cloth till he groans and buries his face in her neck.

He kisses his way under the collar of her dress as she turns to get the door open.

"This is okay, isn't it?" she questions between urgent kisses once they are inside and clumsily trying to get each other out of their clothes. "Are we mad?"

He shrugs, barely hearing her; her dress is down off one arm and his hands are full of her warm skin. "We're drunk. It's okay."

"We're _so_ drunk," she agrees.

But his eyes are clear when they meet hers, and the look they share tells a slightly different story.

"This okay?" he returns the question, in bed, as he arches up into her.

She bites her lip, making a sound he's never heard her make before. "Very," she breathes, "Very okay."

She leans forward, hair falling in a curtain as her mouth seeks his again.

They part finally, afterward, boneless and tired, and fall asleep side by side in a mess of sheets that smell like them.

**...**

5.

The morning is bright with possibility, promising a new future for the people of San Lorenzo.

For Nate and Sophie, it is merely _bright_.

Sophie dons the largest, darkest sunglasses in her possession, Nate winces in the sunshine, and rubs his forehead often. They stand delicately by as Eliot herds Parker and Hardison into the first of the cars waiting to take them to the airport. They wave him off; they are right behind him.

They sink back into the leather with twin sighs of relief as the car door shuts and they are safe behind tinted windows from all that cheerful optimism.

On the road, then, leaving the site of their greatest triumph to date behind them.

Eventually, Nate clears his throat. "You said something about a holiday. Last night."

"Did I?"

She pushes her sunglasses up to sit on her head, looking at him across the wide bench seat. His eyebrows raised, he meets her gaze evenly.

It's a whole new game. And if there's one thing they do well, the two of them, it's play to win.


End file.
